Leah Mcsweeney Book Novels & Stories

I thought to myself. She couldn't be so good at hiding things. Actually, Leah was very good at hiding things and keeping secrets but I already knew her too well. And I knew when she could get sloppy. I’d put a lot of pressure on her lately so she would get sloppy. I looked under her clothes closet and saw something like a kind of box fixed into the floor of the closet directly under her clothes. A smile crept up my face when I realized what treasure lay there. I slowly pulled open the lid of the box and I found it. Leah’s spell book. Exactly what I needed.

“You…how did you—” “Locks? Ha. Child’s play.” Leah’s laugh was low, cruel. She tilted the metal container slightly, letting the liquid inside slosh with a wet, menacing sound. “I warned you, Luna. You can’t run. You can’t hide. You’ve spent too long thinking someone else protects you.” I took a step back, knife trembling in my hand. “I don’t need protection! I can face you!” “Can you?” Leah’s voice dropped to a whisper, venom dripping from every word. “Can you survive when the moment comes, when everything you love is threatened? I doubt it.”

But already, she had become what she had once searched for—a woman who dared to speak, and who taught others to do the same. Leah’s first book launch, the media attention it draws, and the emotional complexity of stepping into the public eye. The morning of Leah Santiago’s book launch arrived with a sky streaked in gold and a breeze that carried the scent of mango blossoms. She stood at the window of her small apartment in Calapan, watching the town stir to life. Vendors opened their stalls. Children chased each other down the alley. Somewhere, someone was reading her words.

He stared at me apologetically, and got up to address his guests. A moment later, she occupied Declan's vacant seat and stretched out a hand towards me. "Hi, I'm Cassandra Jones." She said it and paused for a bit, probably waiting for me to recognize the last name. I smirked internally, happy that the name didn't ring any bells. Leah one, Cassandra zero. I eyed the hand, but took it anyway, wanting to scope out the enemy. "I'm Leah Garcia." "Oh, so you're the writer," she said, like it was a bad thing. She might've as well said, 'oh so you're the low-life'.

Leah surprised me. She wasn't nervous like she was before. In front of the alphas, she transformed. Not into someone she wasn't. Into the version of herself that she only let people see when the pressure was high enough to burn away the self-doubt. She spoke with conviction. Asked questions that showed she'd done her research on each pack's territory. Remembered details from conversations she'd had with their officers during the arrivals. One luna complimented her dress, and Leah deflected the praise with a joke about Keanu spending longer getting ready than she did, which earned a laugh from half the table and an indignant “That is a blatant lie” from Keanu three seats down. She was magnifi

“They’re fighting for you, Aria. This is insane.” I tried to breathe but the room felt like it was filling with invisible water. “I haven’t finished the book,” I whispered. “That didn’t stop Harry Potter’s publishers,” she fired back. “Your manuscript is enough for them to smell money.” She said it jokingly, but all I could hear was my mentor’s voice again. “Don’t let attention deceive you.” “Don’t think you’ve earned anything yet.” My stomach twisted. Leah didn’t notice. She was in full manager mode now. “And because there’s too much traffic coming in, I created a dedicated social media account for you.”

But not everyone was inspired. Leah sat at her locker down the hall, arranging her books, and Shylie watched her. Leah was a perfect picture of a popular girl. Grades that turned teachers' heads, perfectly executed charm that won everyone over, and a beauty that was easy on the eyes. But underneath it all, Leah was jealous. Green with it every single day.

Leah leaves the library before Daniel can say anything else. She does not run. Running would make the moment visible, and Leah has spent too much of her life learning how to keep pain from becoming a public event. She walks through the hall at an even pace, passes the west study without looking inside, and continues toward Diana’s sewing room. The house is quiet around her. Somewhere downstairs, a door closes softly. Mrs. Turner speaks to someone in the corridor, her voice too low for Leah to understand. Behind the walls of the west study, Elaine continues working while the damaged ledger image lies beside the wedding timeline.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she tossed them into the thick, thorny underbrush fifty yards away. "If you want to be at the high table," Leah said, turning her back on them and walking toward the iron gates, "start by getting your hands dirty. Dig for it." As she walked away, she didn't look back to see if they scrambled into the thorns. She didn't need to. She knew the sound of desperate people, and she knew that from this moment on, the leaderboard was a lie. She wasn't just a participant anymore; she was the one setting the pace.

"I was banned from our pack and sent into exile." Startled, Leah responded. "This doesn't make any sense. I'm still trying to figure out what you have narrated has got to do with the magic book you seek?" "Yes, it may not be connected to the magic book from the little explanation I have made so far but trust me, it does. Maybe you should listen to the full story as it happened." "You may proceed," Leah gave her the order to continue.